


No Matter What There's Always Pack

by httpstiles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Stiles, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, Magic Stiles, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2686595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/httpstiles/pseuds/httpstiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The room is dark and has a distinct smell that comes from leaking pipes that run across the ceiling and the mold that grows around them. The room is bare, albeit the door, a grate in the ceiling, and the restrained, naked-chested boy slumped against the walls. Shackles connect his wrists to the wall with short chains and a metal mask covers everything below the eyes. </p><p>-</p><p>He breaks the chain holding his good hand on the ninth day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Matter What There's Always Pack

**Author's Note:**

> The way in which I describe Stiles and what he is has no relation to the mythological creature other than the elements.

The room is dark and has a distinct smell that comes from leaking pipes that run across the ceiling and the mold that grows around them. The room is bare, except for the door, a grate in the ceiling, and the restrained, naked-chested boy slumped against the walls. Shackles connect his wrists to the wall with short chains and a metal mask covers everything below the eyes. His hands are wrapped twice over with duck tape and his legs are left alone because they know he won't be able to escape the bindings.

\--

He comes to slowly and the first thing he hears is the drops of water collecting in a small puddle. When he opens his eyes, and his vision clears, he spies the pipes and the light that streaks through in small lines from above. He takes in his accommodations next; he's restrained above the head with chains, and he won't be casting any spells or using his magic due to his hands and mouth– his mouth that is sewn shut beneath the metal which doesn't fail to make him feel suffocated with the little space between it and his nose. He can taste the metallic tinge in his mouth from his own blood and the slight tug he makes to test how far they can move shoots pain along his jaw and twinges every nerve in his head.

Over some time, the light diminishes from the room and it gets darker. When he tries to stand, the chains keep him from standing properly, but he can't rest properly either. It's the best he's ever seen hunters do– it's not much.

 

Eventually the captors come, and they greet Stiles with grins more nefarious than a psychopath. Then again, hunters could also classify as psychopaths, so maybe they're really only as bad as themselves. He's spending too much time thinking about this now.

A woman starts to speak, but to the man next to her.

“He's an Elemental– dangerous.”  
“What's that have to do with his mouth?”  
“Do you want him to breathe fire like some demonic dragon?” Stiles would smirk if he could. Instead he just looks up at the two with knowing eyes.  
“How'd you get the drop on him?”  
“He can't control metal and he's just as fragile as a regular human.” The man just nods, then gets closer, examining Stiles with a curious expression.  
“Why are we not collecting him?” That catches Stiles off guard.  
“We want to collect the True Alpha, too. Those are more rare than this child.”  
They leave again.

They want to collect.

\--

Stiles stays alert the entire time. He refuses to let himself fall asleep, pushing himself until he sees the light starting to peer through the grate again. When the light is directly angled on him, he accepts the first bit of warmth he's had since he arrived, but it doesn't last long because that's when the captors come again.

 

They break each of his fingers on his left hand before he has the chance to use them. His hands are his best weapon when he manipulates the elements, and without his fingers in perfect form, he can't do anything.

They give him the chance to write what he knows about the pack before he loses his right hand. He holds the pen and stares at the wrinkled paper. He considers his options and the state he's in; how much longer can he go?

There's sweat rolling down his face and down his bare chest and back, and his lips have started bleeding again, from wanting to scream.

He nods and presses the pencil to paper.

 

He writes everything that pops to his mind from favorite candy to favorite movies. The woman watching him just smiles smugly from a distance, not having any clue as to what he actually writes.  
When he puts his pencil down they immediately pull him from the chair and manhandle him out of the room.

It takes all of seventeen seconds before there's a raging scream and glee overcomes Stiles.  
The woman comes running down the hall after them and doesn't stop until she's standing in front of him. The goons dragging him come to a halt and Stiles stares into her eyes.  
“You're such a fucking little shit.” She punches him in the gut and all Stiles can think is that she's a brat. “Prep him.”

Stiles plan is going accordingly.

\--

His plan is dragging out. They've fed him once a day for three days now, and his energy has since drained to a near empty. He couldn't enact his plan because, this time around, his ankles also had shackles, keeping them a fair distance apart.

\--

On the fifth day, Stiles starts to wonder where the pack is. He knows they're not hurt because his captors are demanding him for Intel which mean they don't have them, but where are they?

\--

Maybe this is their tactic? Stiles starts to question the possibility on the seventh day. His confidence has fallen some and he's starting to worry.

On the eighth day they torture him without ever speaking.

\--

They ruin all his plans when they take away his shoes– which had, oddly enough, been a part of the plan– and burn the bottoms of his feet. It takes away the running away part, too. He's fucked.

\--

He breaks the chain holding his bad hand on the ninth day. He doesn't know how, suspects it to be the anger, but the loose bolt yanks from against the wall and it comes out.  
The chain is still connected, but he can move it now, and it'll be painful, but he can undo the duck tape on his good hand.

\--

It takes three hours to get the duck tape off, which is faster than Stiles could have hoped considering his only option to remove it was his hand with the broken fingers. From there, it should be a piece of cake.

He's barely started to remove the metal mask when he hears feet stampeding above. Shadows cross over the grate, and he freezes up, not only feeling the lock at the back that won't allow the removal without the key they've been using, but at the voice he swears he just heard.

“I smell him!” The whispered yell is loud enough to be clear from directly above. He's never felt more relief. He uses his hands to send a gust of air up through the grate and there's a small laugh.  
“That's him!”

 

No one expects him to be in such a poor physical state. Lydia and Kira stand guard above, but Scott and Derek have busted the grate in and jumped down to help Stiles. They waste no time in removing the chains, but the small lock on the back of the mask his hard to get a proper grip on. Stiles slumps forward and presses his face against Scott's chest for cushion as Derek works the small lock.

“It's too fucking thick and small for me to get a grip on,” Derek growls. “We should just storm in there and get the fucking key–”  
“We can't,” Scott interjects. “Just try again.”  
“It's not working,” Derek growls. In anger, he squeezes and the lock pops, the actual hook snapping. Stiles lets the giggle bubble for a small moment.

Scott's mouth gapes and his eyes flash red when the metal mask falls to the ground.  
“I want to kill them.” Stiles just shakes his head.  
“We need to leave,” Derek says, staring at the door. “They're coming.” He doesn't miss Stiles heartbeat picking up.  
Scott makes haste to cut the small strand the connects Stiles' lips, but Stiles is the one to pull it out quick, ignoring the pain.  
“Let's go,” his voice rasps.

It's just as Derek is out of the hole where the grate was that the hunters break into room. Stiles shoots fire at them from his hand before they can even yell.

\--

They ask him what happened, where he's injured, and all that such. All he can think about is how much he hopes those mother fuckers burned and how much they'll burn in hell.  
“What did they want?” Scott asks. They've all been asking questions, but none have caught his attention until now.  
“Us,” he replies.  
“Us, as in all of us?”  
“No,” Stiles’ voice rasps from the back seat of his own jeep. They’d driven it in to get him. “You and me. They were collectors or something like that. That's what I got from their conversations, when they did speak at least. Apparently we’re rare or something and a True Alpha is worth more. I don't know…” Stiles trails off and just slumps into Lydia's arms.  
“Kira?” She lifts her head from against the window and looks to Stiles immediately.  
“Yeah?” He holds up his hand with the broken fingers.  
“They healed wrong. Could you set them?”  
“Um, what? That's going to hurt like a bitch.”  
“I can't even move them now. Plus, they'll heal once they're set. Can you just…” Stiles hold his hand closer to her and she just winces and takes hold of his hand. “Don't be slow about it ju–”  
There's a loud snap and cracking noise. He lets a shout out, but it dissolves into a heavy sigh of relief. He tentatively moves his finger.  
“Please continue.” Behind him, Lydia laughs and in the front seat, both Scott and Derek smile.

 

It's not until they're actually back to Derek's loft that it hits Stiles. It hits him like a truck; it’s a good thing that Derek and Scott are supporting him right now.  
He starts sobbing, full on wracking sobs that shake his whole body. Liam, who'd stayed behind because of the posing threats, makes his way from one of the adjacent rooms. He gives Scott a look, but even Scott isn't sure what happened.  
They go to lay him on the couch, but he lurches backward, away from it.  
“Outside,” his voice rasps. “Get me outside.”  
“Stiles—,”  
“Get me outside,” he grits through tears. “I need to know.”  
“You need to rest and eat—,”  
“I need to know if I can still feel the energy of the earth. I need to know if I can–” Stiles sighs. “You won't get it. You don't know what it's like to be connected to the thrum of—,”  
“Stiles, I know what you're saying, but why wouldn't you feel that?” Derek asks. Stiles just turns away, body still shaking.  
“Stiles… What did they do?” Stiles doesn't answer. Derek moves around in front of him and lifts his head by the chin. Everyone is silent, watching Stiles curl in on himself and fall apart.  
“They burned my feet. I mean, they healed,” he quickly adds, “but the nerves– I think my nerves were permanently damaged because I can't even feel the floor much and I'm terrified that I won't feel the earth I need to feel connected it's like you feeling the moon it’s what makes me who I am ever since I discovered what I am. Can you just let me go outside?” The pack is silent and they all exchange quick looks.  
“Let's get you cleaned up and then I'll take you to the preserve,” Derek says. “Is that okay?” Stiles just nods and slumps into Derek's chest. Derek’s arms immediately engulf him.

Liam takes off to get the first-aid kit, while Lydia and Kira go to make something for Stiles.

“I'm malnourished,” Stiles mumbles against Derek. “Tell them to make soup because I don't know what I can't stomach yet.”  
“Kira heard you.”  
“She can focus on that now? They grow up so fast.” Stiles means it as a joke, but it comes out with the same raspy voice he’s had since they found him. It's what happens when you don’t speak for over a week and spend most of the time screaming against sealed lips.  
“Scott,” Derek whispers, “I have some clothes in a chest just up the stairs. Let's get him some clean clothes.”

-

It's just Derek and Stiles when he brings him out to the Beacon Hills Preserve. It's as far as Derek can get from the Hale House and the main road.

“Derek?” Derek turns to Stiles, who now wears his oversized t-shirt and sweatpants.  
“Yeah?”  
“I'm scared. What if– what if I can't feel it?”  
“I don't know what to say honestly,” he reaches out and intertwines his hand with Stiles’, “but if you don't, you'll have us.”

 

When his bare feet slip out of the car and touch the ground, Stiles cries.

**Author's Note:**

> You can decide whether that's a happy ending or not. What you first read it as may be interesting and say something about your mind set ;)


End file.
